Falling
by Foof
Summary: Draco writes Harry a letter...mild slash. OotP spoilers. EPILOGUE UP
1. Falling

Disclaimer: I own nothing... cheers to you J.K  
Summary: Draco writes Harry a letter.... **mild slash.**

  
  


Falling...

  


I've been falling for as long as I can remember. Falling away from everyone. I didn't choose to live like this. I hate falling, especially from such heights as this. I know what it's like to have a life thrust upon you without any consideration for who you really are. What your really like. I've been falling into darkness since I was a child. Falling deeper and deeper inside of myself. Hiding myself from everyone. Hiding everything I've ever known. Everything I should have been. I'm not depressed and I don't hate myself. That would never be allowed. I hate what I have been molded into though. Molded into the epitome of my Father. An evil, devious, malicious aristocrat who has no regard for human life. No regard for anything. I have been falling into this life for what seems like eternity. I will continue to fall, to decline along a path I was forced to take. A path I despise with every part of my body. A path that pains me every day I am made to live it. It makes my mind ache with dread. With fear. 

  


I was never allowed to cry, to hurt, to feel. Never allowed to love. I was denied love as a child. I'm denied love now. I'm not capable of love, I know that for a fact. I'm incapable of love because I don't believe in love. I've never been one to believe in something unless I've experienced it. When I was a child I didn't believe that there were people, muggles, who were not magical in any way. But then I saw them. I was shown how pathetic they were and then I believed, and I have been taught to despise them ever since. I've never experienced love so why should I believe it really exists? How can one possibly feel their heart swell with anything but hatred and anger, loathing and despise? I've always thought this. Of course until I started falling again, falling for you.

  


But it's not love. I know it's not love. I'm not a pathetic, lovesick Hufflepuff. Sure you can call it what you like. Lust. Infatuation. Dependency. Rapture. It may even be obsession, but it is definitely not love. But what eats me away inside is that you don't even notice the emotions that fill my heart when I look at you, when I'm near you. I portray it as hatred and loathing because I was brought up to hide what I'm truly feeling. I have no true feelings. People can use your feelings, manipulate them, twist them around until they have placed you in such a vulnerable position that you can't move. You can't breath. Your trapped. So, yes, it may seem like I hate you, but it's something else. Whenever I'm near you I feel something besides hatred and loathing and I'm not quite sure what it is. I've never felt it before. But I know it's not love.

  


I've tried to show you, you know? When I know no one else is looking. When I know your eyes are the only ones on me, I let my facade down, only for a brief moment. I do it just to see if you recognise the emotions in my eyes. But you don't. I doubt you ever will. As soon as your eyes narrow, bore into me with the hatred you feel, my feelings for you disappear and are replaced with the usual sneer and cold eyes, the same way you look at me.

  


The way you look at me with your sparkling emerald eyes. So bright. So alive. And I wish I could just see the warmth in them. The same warmth that fill them when you look at your friends. I want to see the emotions that I feel every time I see you. But it's always the same. Those eyes, taunting me. Ripping apart my heart. Shattering it into a thousand pieces. You. With you're brilliant eyes that are always hidden behind those stupid glasses. Glasses I would like to tear away from you're face. Throw them to the ground, sending shards of glass over the stone floor just so I can see your eyes. I want to see love in those eyes when I look into them. I want you to love me, but I don't want to love you. I'm incapable of love. 

  


Perhaps what I feel for you is need. I need you. I need your love. It's more than want. I want a new broomstick. I certainly don't need one, but I want one more than ever. But not as much as I want you. Because I don't just want you. I need you. 

  


You. With you're inky black hair that refuses to lie flat. Your raven locks that make you constantly look like you've just gotten out of bed. Your annoying hair that sticks out at all angles. That hair I would like nothing more than to put a gelling spell on. That soft, tempting hair that I would like nothing more than to run my fingers through. Feel it skimming between my fingers. I need to touch it. I need to touch you. I'm afraid of standing close to you anymore. I'm afraid I won't be able to hold myself back. I'm afraid the temptation of you, you in all your glory, will be too much. I'm afraid of the way you'll look at me when the need to touch you overcomes me and I finally reach out and run my fingers through your hair. 

  


I remember in our fifth year when you beat me up. It hurt. It hurt more than you will ever imagine. Your scar may hurt you when you sleep but you hurt me in a way you will never know. You were doing more than punching and kicking me that day. You reached into my chest and squeezed the life out of my heart. I lay curled up in a ball after you were dragged away, not because you nearly broke my ribs, nor because of my broken nose. It was because you had squeezed my heart with such force that I was suffocating. Choking on everything I had ever felt for you. But you know what? The one thing that pulled me through. The only good thing to come out of that was the fact that you touched me. You actually touched my skin and I needed you to do that. I need you more than you will ever know.

  


I love watching you fly. I joined the Slytherin Quidditch team just to watch you fly. Since our first year when you chased after me, your heart full of Gryffindor bravery when I stole the Rememberal, I've wanted to watch you fly. The wind whipping at your robes, through your hair. The exhilaration etched into you're features is mesmerizing. The way you fly with such grace and ease. You were born to fly. I've known that ever since our first year at Hogwarts. I know that your free when you fly. Free from the weight in your heart. Yes, I know your heart is weighed down by things most people can't even comprehend. I know you better than you think. I have tried for nearly 7 years to understand you and I think I'm finally there. 

  


I know you hate the fame you have. You didn't choose fame. It was thrown at you in the form of a spell from the tip of Voldemort's wand. I know you hate the attention. I know you hate the pointing, the staring, the talking behind hands whenever you pass. I see your face contort with fury every time it happens. People can be gullible. I certainly wasn't. I never once fell for those ridiculous articles the Daily Prophet printed about you. One just had to observe you for a while to realise they were nothing more than a bored journalist's imaginings. You are not conceited. You are not insane. You are not an attention-seeking brat. If anyone was guilty of that that I think it would be me. But I know you'd prefer to sit in the background while others bask in the spotlight. I remember the joy on your face when Weasley would have his 15 minutes of fame. When he was the one in the spotlight instead of you. It happened in our third year and in our fourth. And you relished every second of it. I know what it's like to live a life that was not meant for you. I understand how you feel, I truly do.

  


"You're dead potter." That's what I told you at the end of our fifth year. I told you I wanted you dead. That I was going to kill you. I offered you death with such malice and hostility that I truly believed that I could give you that and no more. You laughed at me. I laughed at me. Silently of course. It's because of you that my Father is a convicted Death Eater. It's because of you that he sits in a cell in Azkaban, his mind rotting away into nothingness. It's because of you I must live with the reputation he thrust upon me when he was caught. I must live a life of exclusion because of the retched mark that's burnt into his skin. That's what my family tells me anyway. But I know it's not your fault. I know it's his fault for getting himself mixed up in such sordid business in the first place. I know you were only doing what you were born to do that night at the Department of Mysteries. Just like all these years I have been doing what I was born to do. I wanted to tell you that at the end of our fifth year. But my stupid family pride that had been forced inside me since I was young got in the way. I had you alone for the second time that year and I did nothing but insult you. 

  


The same when I used a tripping curse on you after you're DA meeting. I walked over to you, looking down at you. At you're body sprawled out on the ground. I wanted to offer you my hand. Pull you to a standing position then throw my arms around you and hold you in a tight embrace. But I didn't. I can't. I can't show you, how I feel. I'm scared of rejection. I'm scared of the humiliation when you laugh in my face. But most of all I'm scared of the hatred I'll see in you're eyes if I ever told you to your face. 

  


Standing so very close to you in Umbridge's office was almost unbearable for me, even back then. Knowing what was coming to you, knowing what was going to happen to you and yet I did nothing. Nothing but twirl your wand in my fingers and stare at you. I loved the feel of your wand in my hand. It felt so right, like I was holding a part of you. I didn't comfort you like I should of. I didn't let you escape. You had to rely on Granger with her sob story. I wanted to follow you. Make sure you were alright. But I wasn't allowed. So many chances for me to tell you exactly what I think, what I feel and I've failed miserably ever single, painful time. And it's because of your eyes. I'm scared of what I'll see when I look into them. Scared of the rejection. 

  


Your refection of the friendship I offered you nearly 7 years ago wounded me to my very core. I had never had a friend. I had never offered anyone my friendship until I laid eyes on you. And I've never offered it to anyone since. I don't have friends. I never have and I never will. I have my two cronies. I have 'associates' that are required in the life I am forced to live. I was a lonely child. I am a lonely teenager and I'm doomed to be a lonely adult. I don't care though. Why should I? I've never known friendship so I don't know what it feels like to have a friend, nor what it's like to feel the void a lost friendship leaves in you. To see the look in a friend's eyes when the friendship can no longer exist.

  


Your eyes. Constantly taunting me. Mocking me because of the life I was thrown into. The life I was forced to take. I didn't choose it. I don't know anything about choices. My choices have always been made for me without consideration for what I want. What I need.

  


I need you. I am certain of that. I need your love. Not just anyones love, but your love. And now I see that I finally have a choice. I can choose to tell you, or I can choose to continue my decline. Continue falling into a life of nothingness. This is my choice. I'm telling you because I would prefer to risk feeling the hatred radiate from you're eyes every time you see me (it would be no different than now) rather than not knowing what it's like to choose a different path. A different life. The life I was suppose to live. The life I long to live...

  


I hope you find this piece of my heart insightful. I didn't write this for your pity. I don't want pity. I didn't write it in a desperate attempt to make you love me. I know you will never love me. I came to terms with that long ago. I don't expect you to love me. What I want is understanding. I want you to know that I understand you. I want you to know about the life I was forced to take. I want you to know that no one truly knows me. But what I want most of all is to see something, anything, other than just the hatred in your eyes.

  
  



	2. Those Eyes

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N Thanks to those who reviewed...Narcissa1, ChocolateCoveredChaos and Rani-Panthera.  
There wasn't many but some is better than none!

Yes, Draco is a bit OOC. It's hard to keep him in character in this situation, but I'll try, although I can't promise anything!  
The love/hate scenario in this fic may be a bit complicated. Draco believes he's incapable of love so therefore he thinks he doesn't really love Harry. He might not love him. He's always had these feeling for Harry but it's taken him a long time to realise them and even longer to accept them.   
Suppressed emotions and all that. Perhaps it's a Malfoy trait? Who knows?  
Cheers again!

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I'm not going to look at him. I won't. I can't. I actually sent that letter to him last night. I tied it to the leg of a school owl, not my own of course. If he had recognised my owl he might have sent it straight back without reading it. Which could have been a good idea. But I tied my letter, the letter containing my deepest feelings and thoughts from the very bottom of my heart, to the leg of an owl, addressed to "Harry Potter, Gryffindor Tower."

I realise now it was one of the stupidest things I've ever done. I'm not sure what was wrong with me last night. I've had that letter written for months, after finally realising it wasn't just hate I felt for the Gryffindor. What exactly possessed me to send it last night I do not know. But it was a grave mistake. There is so much in that letter that can be used against me. Everything in that letter can be used against me. Not just my confession that I don't really hate Potter. But the confessions about my life. About my family. About everything. I'm dead. It's official, I can feel it, today is going to be the worst day of my life and as usual it's because of a certain green-eyed Golden Boy.

I'm hoping, praying that Potter's Gryffindor traits will shine through and he won't copy that letter and hand it out to people as they walk into the Great Hall at breakfast. He would have got it just before he went to bed. I wonder if he slept at all? I certainly didn't. I was up all night fretting over what he was thinking. What he was doing. He would have read it by now, how many times I do not know. But that means the next time I see him he will know the secrets of my heart and I'm not comfortable with that in any way, shape or form.

It's time to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. I reluctantly leave the comfort and safety of my Common Room and lead the rest of the Slytherin 7th years along the halls leading from the dungeons. I couldn't exactly say I wasn't coming to breakfast, that I was going to hide in my room all day. That would certainly raise too much suspicion. Draco Malfoy hiding? Certainly not plausible. So, today, depending on Potter's reaction of course, I'm going to pretend nothing has happened and that nothings changed. That's my great plan. I'm dead, it's official. 

I chance a look at the Gryffindor table as I pass through the doors, narrowly avoiding his gaze before I sit down in my usual seat. I still can't believe I sent it. I told him everything. Absolutely everything. I feel my heart sink and my stomach churn as I think about it. I am not at all interested in food today but I dish some eggs onto my plate. I won't eat it. I doubt I could hold anything down but I need something to look at while I'm trying desperately not too look at him. I can feel his eyes on me. I always can when he looks at me. Those eyes, constantly taunting me. 

Herbology with the Ravenclaws passes too quickly for my liking. I'm dreading lunch. I'm absolutely terrified of the time when I will finally have to look at him. When I'll have to look into those emerald eyes. I know I'll have to. It's inevitable. But I'll avoid it for as long as possible, so I walk painfully slow back up to the Castle. Crabbe and Goyle are not at all rejoicing my reluctance to go to lunch. But even being a mindless bodyguard has its drawbacks. 

Lunch. I feel my body stiffen as I enter the Great Hall. He's there already, obviously, as I'm there late. Late. I didn't think of that, which means everyone is already seated, which means that he has a clear view of me walking to my seat. I mentally cringe, feeling his eyes on me yet again but after years of practicing my cold facade stays in place. I'm determined not too look at him but the only seats left are those which face the rest of the Hall. I silently curse and sit down, fixing my cold sneer into place and stare around at my fellow Slytherins. My eyes refuse to leave that of my own table. Lunch is an excruciatingly slow ordeal, considering I have nothing to do except keeping my eyes glued to the table because I refuse to eat. 

Potions. Double Potions at that. Double Potions with the Gryffindors. I've always liked Potions and not just because I'm good at it. But because *he's* in that class and us Slytherin's are always favoured. Particularly me because I have an odd aptitude in Potion-making. I arrive early and sit down the front in my usual seat. This may not be as bad as I first thought. He will sit in his seat up the back, which means if I don't have to turn around for anything my gaze can remain at the front of the room. I still feel sick. I feel sick in anticipation of what's going to happen. If it happens. When it happens. Not knowing when its going to happen is driving me insane. I think I must be insane. Yes, it's official, I'm insane. Insane because last night I sent my arch-nemesis a letter containing my deepest desires and fears. I sent the letter last night, after having written it months ago. I decided last night, for some desperate reason that it was about time he knew. Insane. I think the generations of inter-family marriages amongst the pureblood families are finally starting to take its toll.

Snape's eyes are on me, obviously curious to my rather early arrival. But before there is time for questions a herd of voices appear outside the door and people pour into the classroom. My eyes remain stubbornly on the blackboard. It's easier avoiding those eyes in class. Not just because I have my back to him, but because I have something to do. Today's task is a Sleeping Draught. I am seriously considering making a stronger version and downing the whole lot. It's a rather simple Draught thankfully. Although it's evident from the whispers at the back of the room that several Gryffindors, and much to my disgust, Slytherins are having trouble making it. I ignore it best I can and begin cutting up ingredients. 

It's all going rather well. It was going rather well, of course until I hear a whispered voice from directly behind me, "Draco. Psst. Draco." No, no, no, no! Not today Pansy. Not today. My eyes remain resolutely on my ingredients. I would normally help her complete her Potion, don't ask me why. I don't even know. It's probably house pride and not letting Gryffindors beat us in potion-making along with everything else. She is one of the dizziest girls I've ever come across. Her Potions, without my help, would be worse than Longbottom's. And that is truly saying something. But today, unfortunately, she is insistent, and I can still hear her whispered voice. "Draco. Please. I need your help." A shudder courses through my body. She will not relent. She does not want to feel the wrath of Snape, neither would I. But if she doesn't stop the incessant whispering I will not be able to finish my Draught. 

Why me? 

I decide to do this as quickly as possible. I spin around in my chair, fixing my eyes on the pug face before me.  
"What?" I hiss at her, my icy stare sending a shiver through her. She tells me she can't cut up her newt liver the correct way. She tells me she needs the fifth instruction explained to her because she doesn't understand it. Doesn't understand it? I feel my anger building. She can probably see it in my eyes and that's probably why she is looking worried. If only she knew what she was really making me do. 

My eyes are focused on her ingredients as I cut up her newt liver. I know he 's watching me. I feel his stare on me and it takes all of my self-control to not look up. Not to sneak a look at the Golden Boy. But I don't. I won't. My hands are shaking even after my attempts to hold them still. This is not good. Potter may not know it, but he is killing me. However indirectly, he's still killing me.

I hear my name in a whispered under-tone come from the back of the room. I know it's Weasley. This fact alone makes my heart sink to my feet. Do Weasley and Granger know about the letter? Did they read it too? Clearly I didn't think all the consequences through last night. I hiss the instructions at Pansy with such venom that she looks as if she were actually stung by my words. I turn back around and continue my Draught, my mind wandering over the consequences.

If he had told Weasley and Granger I doubt whether Weasley would have passed up the opportunity to tell the whole school and humiliate me. Perhaps he didn't read it to them? Perhaps it has remained, like I hoped, between me and him. I'm praying that is the current situation. But, then what was Weasley whispering my name for? Was it simply because I was helping Pansy? Because Snape was aware I was helping her but chose to say nothing? That was probably it. Weasley hates Snape almost as much as he hates me, that is a well known fact. 

"Potter, I'm growing tired of hearing your voice. Do you really think you are so high above the rest of us that you can talk during my class?" Snape was obviously bored and looking for a fight. But where did that leave me? That was my cue to turn around and snicker at him. But I can't. I won't. There is no way in hell I am looking at him, not today. I can picture the look etched into his face right now. I know exactly what it would be like even though my back is too him. I have studied his features so thoroughly that the image of his face probably dances across my consciousness before he even has time to look angry, frustrated or irate. All the things he is looking like right now.

He's taken Snape's bait as he usually does. I probably would too. "Well then, in that case you can sit up the front. Next to Parkinson. Move. Now." It's official, I think my hearts stopped. Or it may just be beating so fast I can no longer feel it, it's just one continual drone. The scrape of a chair on stone. The sound of books being stuffed into a bag. Heated undertones of muttering and cursing. A cauldron being dragged to the front of the room, and then stops right behind me. The scrape of a chair. A fire being re-lit. Silence.

My hearts definitely working again. It's almost hurting my chest it's beating so hard. The silence is deafening and I'm seriously wondering if anyone can hear my heart as it continues to pick up it's pace. The bubbling of thick liquid in cauldrons and the scrape of a knife on stone is all that can be heard in the room now... and perhaps my heart. My hands continue to make my Draught, thank Merlin they still work, no matter how much they may be shaking. 

It always seems to happen when you think everything is going fine. When you think you can make it through the class it always has to happen. Maybe not to everyone, but definitely for me. "Draco. Psst. Draco." Oh Merlin! This is the end. I may have to hex Pansy after class. "Draco. I need your help again." I feel my chair nudge forward as someone kicks it, obviously tying to get my attention. Three guesses who. No one, no one kicks my chair. I am positively fuming, and praying that the red flush of anger hasn't tainted my skin. I spin around, and glare at the poor excuse for a Slytherin sitting behind me. 

"What. Do. You. Want?" I think I almost scared myself with the deadliness of my voice. Pansy audibly gulps. I feel two emerald eyes boring into me. But I won't look. I'm tempted, but I won't do it. My eyes remain stubbornly fixed on Pansy, no matter how terrified she looks. 

"I-I-I just need you to see if it-it's right. I d-don't think it is." I can only just hear her stuttering but act immediately on what I hear. The less time I spend helping her, the less time I have to spend almost looking at him. I peer into her cauldron and just as I feared, she has well and truly stuffed it up. I snatch her knife out of her hand and begin cutting up the vital ingredients she has missed, plus adding more of some ingredients to even out her mistakes. As I begin throwing her ingredients into her cauldron my eyes find hers again. "Next time read the bloody instructions. It's not that hard. You can't possibly be that dense." The last of her ingredients are hauled into the bubbling mess and I turn abruptly back to my own Draught. 

No eye contact. I will be congratulating myself later on how well I did that. However, my time spent helping incompetent fools means that I am now behind with my own Draught. I just get it finished when the class ends. I hastily put it into a vial and put it on Snape's desk. But now I have to clean up. A Malfoy really shouldn't have to clean up but this is what it comes down to at Hogwarts. The rest of the class are filing out of the room. I can hear their footsteps quickly retreating. I let a long sigh escape me and there is nothing I would like more than to bury my face in my hands, then dig a hole and live in it until it's safe to come out. But I can't really do any of that. I know Snape is standing outside the classroom and he wouldn't appreciate his favourite and most treasured student looking helpless and trying to dig through the floor at the front of his classroom. 

I wipe the table clean and put my hands on my cauldron to take to the sinks but hear a loud scrape of metal against stone that stops me. I was positive everyone had already left. I turn around fast, without thinking, my robes billowing around my legs. I really shouldn't have done it because I am met with pools of emerald. Those eyes I have been desperately avoiding all day. I try and brace myself for what's to come. I have no idea what will come but I try and be ready. My whole body tenses and I'm positive he must be able to hear my heart. 

He stares intently at me. I am too stunned to move. To speak. So I simply stare back. Those eyes I have been afraid to look into now have me mesmerised. The two of us staring at each other is not an uncommon occurrence. But this time it's not because I've insulted him and he's ready to hex me into oblivion. This time it's because he's looking at me knowing exactly how I feel. Not just about him, but about my whole life and it's absolutely terrifying me.

He moves closer to the table, the only barrier between us, his eyes never leaving mine. His sudden movements are not entirely successful in pulling me out of my trance but I am now aware that hexing me is just what he might do. I know he can draw a wand faster than me, I've experienced it too many times. But as of yet his hands have remained at his side. I am wishing now that we had of made a potion to read someone's mind because I am aching to know what he's thinking. My entire body feels like a lump of lead, frozen to the spot, incapable of movement. We are perhaps three feet from one and other, the closest I have been to him for sometime as I have avoided such confrontations with much rigor. He leans forward, closing the gap further and reaches up with one hand to his face and pulls away his glasses. My heart feels as if it's trying to escape my body but still there is no possible way I can move. This is pathetic. I'm pathetic. People shouldn't be able to have such a powerful effect on me. I'm a Malfoy! 

Just as I make my decision to turn around I find something in his eyes that denies me movement. I cannot for the life of me find the hatred, the loathing, the despise that I would normally find in his emerald depths. He leans forward once again, studying me as if he's trying desperately to find something. I'm lost. Lost in his emerald orbs. Those emerald eyes that have no trace of hatred. I know they are certainly not filled with the warmth Weasley and Granger see but there is something else. Understanding perhaps? That is the only thing I've ever wanted. 

Before I can put a finger on what is exactly contained in those green eyes of his he suddenly pulls back as if he had just found what he was looking for. He turns abruptly and hurries out of the room, leaving me standing there with a feeling of absolute elation. He granted me my wish. He took off his glasses and let me look into his eyes. I looked into his eyes and found no trace of hatred. He granted me the last thing I asked of him in my letter.


	3. Owlery

Disclaimer: The delectable bodies of Harry and Draco and everything else sadly do not belong to me.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I didn't expect that many, so thanks!

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Mother still requires frequent letters just like my Father used to detailing in my latest test results, my progress in all classes, updates in the Quidditch season and how Slytherin are doing in the House Cup. She still likes to know what the Golden Trio are up to, along with Dumbledore and the other Professors. As much as I love her it is rather pathetic to be wallowing in denial. Father is in Azkaban and his Master is dead. Although the dead part is debatable. But I know I can't be to hard on her, I know how hard it is to try and step off a path you've been walking your whole life. It's almost impossible. I can understand what she must be going through and I'm an obedient Son so letters are sent every couple of weeks. However, I never go into detail. I make my letters as vague and ambiguous as possible, because I have a sneaking suspicion that these letters are probably all kept for the time when he will escape, and he will escape, it's just a matter of time. And I know he hasn't lost his mind like many of the other prisoners. I would never give him the full story. Not like I gave it to a certain green-eyed Gryffindor. 

Saturday morning and I rise early, as I usually do. This is not necessarily my choice. I've always been an early riser but that's because most mornings I wake up covered in sweat, the scenes of a nightmare playing across my consciousness. It's not all bad though. This time of the morning is peaceful and quiet. When I leave the Common Room at this time I rarely see another student or Professor. There is the occasional ghost floating through the Castle. But it's a rarity to actually see someone.

After trying desperately to erase the images of my sleep from my mind I dress and head straight to the Owlery. I step into the large round room, feeling the cool wind whipping against my face and as I cast my eyes around my heart nearly jumps into my mouth. It's not just the surprise of actually seeing someone, but seeing exactly who that someone is.

He is sitting in the pane of a glass-less window. A black mop of hair his only distinctive feature visible. His legs are pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped firmly around his ankles and his forehead resting against his knees. 

I have the sudden urge to touch him. To feel his soft skin beneath my fingers. He looks oddly small huddled in the window pane. It's a stark contrast to the towering figure he takes on when playing Quidditch or when in a duel. He seems to have an aura of power about him when he has his wand drawn, when he gets that certain glint in those amazing green eyes. I feel a shudder course through me and I realise I've been watching him for much longer than I should have been. His face is still hidden which means he is unaware of my presence. I crush the urge to walk directly to him and take him in my arms and drag my eyes away from him to rake over the sleeping owls above me. My black eagle owl never takes long to find and I move as silently as possible towards her. I'm praying that she will notice me before I have to call for her because I really don't want to disturb him. 

However, I do desperately want to know what has brought him to the Owlery at this time of the morning and why he's huddled against a window, the wind whipping at his body. I'm positive that he too must suffer from nightmares, after all he's seen and experienced it's not surprising. But I can't ask him. I won't. I've only had one encounter with him since he received my letter. When he showed me he didn't hate me. But I don't know if he wants to talk to me. I have no idea what he thinks about the letter or me. I have no idea if he wants to change the relationship between us. I know he doesn't hate me, but thats all I know. No words have passed between us. I haven't even slung my usual insults at him. Instead Weasel and Granger are coping it all. I can't very well give up insulting them all together. People would definitely notice, and frankly I don't think I really want to give up insulting them. He was confused at first as to why I kept insulting his friends, but I think he figured out why.

The swooping sound of an owl returning from it's nightly hunting brings me out of my reverie. I see the wide, hazel eyes of my owl blinking down at me and I hold out my arm in a silent signal that I have a letter in need of delivering. She swoops down and latches onto my arm. She glistens as she moves, the light streaming in from the windows catching in her beautiful plumage. I lift my hand to stroke her, feeling the soft black feathers beneath my fingers, wishing it were something else. She moves up onto my shoulder to allow me to tie my letter to her leg. "You know who it's for. Give her a kiss for me." I whisper before she launches into the air and out of the window. 

I turn back to the occupied window, hoping to get a last look before I leave but find a pair of emerald eyes watching me intently. I think he is the only one with the ability to fluster me, to cause me to forget everything. When I find myself gazing into his eyes it's like I have been temporarily stupefied. I can't move, or speak and I'm thoroughly surprised my heart continues to work. But it's never long before I pull myself together. Years of being trained to be a 'Malfoy' does have it's perks. My emotionless expression that I have practiced in the mirror returns and I watch him with seeming disinterest. Even though he knows exactly how I feel I still can't help sliding my facade into place. Force of habit I guess. 

Feeling like I'm intruding on his space I turn to leave. I have my back to him and have taken my first step when he finally speaks. 

"Why?" 

His soft yet firm voice echoes around the room, bouncing off the walls. It's one word and yet the answer is so incredibly complicated I can't even begin to fathom where to start. I don't turn around, my eyes are fixed in front of me, trying to find the words. Before I have time to decide on what to say, there were clearly to many things to say his voice halts my thoughts. 

"Did you write it?" His voice is filled with curiosity but his simple question angers me.

"Of course I bloody wrote it." I snap at him, my back still to him.

"I knew you did." He said defensively. "It was too sincere to be fiction. But I just had to make sure." I don't know what to say to this pronouncement, so I say nothing. 

The silence isn't an uncomfortable one but I still have my back to him, not having worked up enough of whatever it is I need to turn and face him. The wall in the Owlery is not at all interesting but after about a minute of staring I can no longer see it. All I can see is him. Trying to imagine exactly what he would look like right now but I cannot for the life of me come up with a definite picture. I feel his scrutinizing gaze on my back and I'm almost dying of curiosity to know what he looks like. To know what expression he is wearing. What kind of body language he is giving off. But most of all I want to know what he's thinking. My eyes seem to re-focus again and the wall comes back into view. I shove the thoughts of asking Snape if there really is a Potion that enables one to read another's mind out of my stream of consciousness and am realising quickly that I can't stand here all day staring at a stone wall. 

Before I have a chance for further thoughts on the matter his voice once again pulls me out of my reverie. 

"Why?" 

That same annoying question. It really is a bit too vague for my liking. He could be asking about anything. Why did you send me that letter now? Why not years ago? Why won't you look at me? Why do you live a life you despise with every fiber of your being? Why does the Owlery smell so bad? Actually, wait, he would already know that answer, the evidence was all over the floor.

"Why what?" My voice is cold, I can't help it. It wasn't suppose to be a question filled with such venom but I guess I can't stop who I've become. I spin around to face him, my arms folded defiantly across my chest. His face is unreadable but his eyes flicker with my abrupt and rather rude question. I knew as soon as I laid eyes on him that I was probably better off facing the wall. His eyes have always been my downfall. I feel my whole body soften, even my mind, as he watches me, contemplating his answer. 

"I would never have guessed any of the truths you spoke of in your letter and yet they all appear to be self evident." He stopped, running a hand through his hair. That hair. His raven locks that are so soft, so tempting. My eyes linger where his hand has just been until he catches my gaze. His cheeks flush ever so slightly because he has probably guessed exactly what I was thinking. Damn! This was so much easier when he had no idea what was going on in my mind. It was easier to hide myself from him. But do I really want to hide from him? That was not a question I was prepared to answer just yet. 

"When did you write it?" Out of all the questions he could ask he goes for the one with the easiest answer. Good work Potter.

"Months ago."

"Why did you send it the other night?" My eyes flicker to the floor. I still have no idea why I deemed the other night appropriate.

"I really don't know. Maybe I was delirious or something because I'd never had the urge to actually send it to you before." My eyes remain on the stone floor. My voice didn't hold the coldness it had before.

"I'm glad you did." 

My eyes snap up to meet his. I can't believe it. He's actually happy about reading the letter. He's glad that he knows everything it contained. I thought he may resent me for dumping it all on him. I would certainly be out for blood if my enemy decided one day to tell me their painful life story. But I suppose that was me. And Potter was Potter. We were very similar and yet so very different at the same time. 

"Why did you write it?" 

That was the big question. The one that would probably take me a lifetime to understand and another to explain it. I let a sigh escape me and cast my eyes over the one bombarding me with the questions. He had a right to ask them of course. I had been expecting it. I just didn't know when and I certainly didn't expect them to come so soon. He was still huddled against the window, with his legs pressed against his chest, but his arms were now resting on his knees and he had turned to face me. 

"I guess after I realised and accepted what was going on inside me I just had to get it out. It felt better to see it written down. It was like I wasn't just telling you, I was finally telling myself. Making it real." I had unconsciously moved closer to him and was now a few feet away. He was still watching me, I could feel it and it was this feeling, those eyes that caused me to begin my tirade, but I didn't look up at him. I couldn't and hadn't since I began talking. "But I think what really made me put quill to parchment was that I finally realised that I wanted you to understand me more than anything else I've ever wanted in my whole life."

I wasn't telling him everything. I couldn't openly admit to his face everything I had revealed in that letter. Sure I wanted understanding. But there was that desire deep down inside of me that wanted so much more. Was he willing to give it to me? Could he ever give it to me? Part of me felt that I might never know.

When I finally built up the courage to look at him his face was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. His full red lips and slightly flushed cheeks are more than adorable. He was right in front of me. Watching me. Gazing up at me with those mesmerizing eyes. I feel as if I'm drowning in his green depths and I know right then and there he could never hate me again. 

This epiphany startles me into silence. I can't drag my eyes away from him. The emotions filling his eyes right now were making my heart soar. I know it shouldn't and it is embarrassing and I'm more than ashamed but it's well and truly out of my control. I take a few steps closer to him, closing the gap between us and it takes all of my resolution plus a little bit more not reach out and touch him. Instead I move swiftly passed him and sit opposite him in the window. His eyes remain on me the whole time as I turn to take in the view. The Hogwarts grounds really do look nice from this height and at this time of the morning. The sun peeping out from behind the cloud-filled sky, shining down on the rippled surface of the lake. But all that occupies my mind is him. 

I turn back to him, raking my eyes over his whole body. He shifts uncomfortably under my gaze. He looks uneasy but is trying desperately to hide it. A flicker of a smirk crosses my lips before I realise why he is feeling uneasy. My proximity to him is more than close and his mind is probably filtering over the words in my letter. My confession that I'm scared to be close to him in fear of what I might do. I turn abruptly from him, my eyes finding the sky once more. 

"It's ok." I say as casually as I can. "I'm won't maul you or anything." This time the smirk that creeps onto my lips is unstoppable. "Self control. You must know I have a lot of it by now."

"Yeah." He assures, a little too quickly. "It's just a bit odd. I'm still trying to understand why, how... just... everything. It's confusing. It's hard to comprehend it all. No matter how many times I read your letter I still find it hard to believe you actually wrote it. You actually feel all of that..." He trailed off sounding extremely nervous. 

I know this is not suppose to offend me but it does and I can't help the anger that flares up inside of me. I look at him, my eyes boring into him, my stone cold gaze returning. 

"Of course I feel. I feel everything as I told you so in that letter. I deserve to feel just as much as the next person and if you find it that hard to believe then I was stupid to ever think you might be capable of understanding me." 

I stand abruptly, to angry to remain seated. I turn away from him and begin to march across the room. But before I have even taken two steps I feel a warm hand clamp onto my wrist. 

He spins me around so I'm facing him again. But I'm not looking into his eyes, I'm looking down at his skin on mine. Feeling his heat radiating into me. It almost has a dizzying affect on me and I have to close my eyes to regain my composure. I finally open them again and am met, once again, by those emerald eyes. 

His glasses have disappeared from his face so there is no longer a barrier between me and the raw emotions coursing through his eyes. I feel instantly guilty for yelling at him. For questioning him. For knowingly taking what he said out of context. But for some reason I need more than to just see it. To see what he feels in those eyes. It's hard to discern exactly what his feelings are. I need to hear it. I need to hear the words pass over his lips.

As if reading my mind, which makes me really wonder if he perhaps has gotten hold of that mind reading potion, he pulls me closer so I'm just a few inches from his face. I can feel his breath on my skin and I'm more than appreciative that he is holding one of my arms down because I don't think I could control both of them to not reach out and touch him when he is this close. 

"I want to understand. I need to understand. You think I don't feel guilty for never noticing how you felt before? For never noticing every time you tried to show me? You think you can just tell me all of those things and think I won't care about any of it? It's all I've been able to think about for the past few days and it's driving me insane. You probably do know me better than anyone else and that fact alone has been eating away at me constantly. I could probably recite that letter word for word I've read it so many times and there is still so much I don't understand. So much I want to understand. Need to understand."

As if only just realising he had spilled his thoughts all over the room he snapped his mouth shut. He swallows hard, his eyes locked with mine. I'm too shocked to say anything. To caught up in what he's just said. He has succeeded once again in sending me into a stupor. He gives me one last searching look that causes my breath to catch in my throat before releasing my hand, pushing passed me and out the door.

  
  



	4. Touch

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Cheers to everyone who reviewed this story!  
  
A/N I put up the rating for this chapter just to be safe... I don't want to be getting in trouble.   
The characters change somewhat in this chapter but they had to change for the story to go anywhere so I tried to keep it as realistic as possible. I probably failed...but oh well, you get that with the big jobs. :D

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I saw him for the first time in three days today. I hadn't seen him since I found him in the Owlery, when he told me he cared. Told me he wanted to understand me. Needed to understand me. When he touched me willingly, pulled me close to him. I had been aching to see him since then and luckily Tuesday brings our first Potions lesson of the week. Fortunately there were no incidents. I'd hate for something to happen in front of the whole class, particularly in front of Snape. He still watches me though, with his amazing green eyes. Watches my every action. It doesn't make me feel entirely uncomfortable, it's rather nice to have his attention, especially when the attention isn't the bad kind of attention I tend to attract. It's even nicer because I'm no longer scared of what I'll find in his eyes when I look into them. But his continual watching does make me considerably self-conscious of everything I do. Everything I say. No one has ever had that effect on me before. Except perhaps my Father.

  


My Father would be sickened to his every core if he knew what I had done. Words cannot describe the trouble I'd be in if he found out how I felt. Particularly that I feel them for a boy. And not just any boy, he'd probably be able to deal with that. But a boy named Harry James Potter. A boy who has caused him more grief in the past 17 years than is imaginable. A boy who was the downfall of his Master, not just once, but twice. 

  


I suppose in a way he is like my saviour. If it weren't for him I would have a hideous skull tainting my skin. Tainting my whole life, my whole world. But I'd never admit that to another living soul. Except of course for the one who saved me.

  


A long hot bath always helps me forget. I can submerge under the water and hear nothing except my heart beat. So a long hot bath is what I plan for tonight. It's better late at night because it's more likely the Prefect's Bathroom won't be occupied. Being a Prefect does have its perks. The Head Boy position would have been better though. My own room. My own bathroom. But even Dumbledore wouldn't give that position to a Malfoy who is the Son of a convicted Death Eater. And not just any Death Eater, but Voldemort's right-hand man at that. I don't blame him really. 

  


I shudder just thinking about it as I pass Boris the Bewildered and whisper the password to gain entrance to the bathroom. Empty. Just what I'd hoped for. The Prefect's Bathroom is one of my favourite rooms in the Castle. It's one of the only places I can truly relax and try to forget everything. I think I probably spent most of last year here. Last year being the hardest year of my life.

  


I turn on the taps and water starts flooding into the swimming pool sized bath. I choose vanilla scented bubbles and the room instantly fills with the fragrance. I always watch the bath fill. It's a very successful relaxing technique. The water flowing freely, the continual bubbling sound as the bath slowly fills. I've always loved water. Some of the fondest memories of my childhood are that of my Mother bathing me. I can still imagine the sensation of her hands in my hair washing the shampoo away. It's been a long time since I've experienced that kind of affection. Affection, love and caring, according to my Father weakens a person. I think the lack of affection, love and caring in my life has made me weaker in a sense. I'm still a fairly strong person emotionally and physically, although I do crave affection. But it's just that my feelings towards my parents have weakened. Towards everything they've ever stood for and believed in. And in the eyes of my Father that is weak and pathetic. 

  


The water filling the bath suddenly stops and the lack of noise brings me out of my thoughts. I stand up and begin unbuttoning my shirt. Last year I turned to physical exercise to help me forget about my Father and Mother, about my life. It kept me occupied when I wasn't in class, doing homework or playing Quidditch. It was a kind of release for all the built up anger I had inside me. The exercise certainly improved my Quidditch and unfortunately caused half the female population of Hogwarts to stand up and take notice. 

  


The cotton material slides off my shoulders and falls to the ground in a heap but the sound of a door shutting stops me from continuing to undress. I spin around and find myself looking at a very surprised looking Harry Potter. His eyes are riveted to the spot. Riveted on me. A small smirk creeps onto my features as I realise this time it was *me* that has caused him to fall into a stupor. I notice a pink flush rise in his cheeks and it takes all my self-control to not let a huge grin spread over my lips. He shakes his head ever so slightly then shifts his eyes to the bath.

  


"Sorry. I didn't realise anyone was in here. There was no locking charm." My smirk disappears as I realise when I came through the door I was so consumed by my own thoughts that I totally forgot about a locking charm.

  
"It's alright. I forgot to put the charm on the door, it's my fault." My eyes rake over his body. He is wearing a white t-shirt and muggle jeans and I wonder what brings him to the bathroom this late at night. Especially since he isn't a Prefect. 

  


"What are you doing here anyway? You aren't a Prefect." I decided to voice my thoughts and he gives me a small smile. I feel my heart skip a beat. He's never smiled at me before.

  


"Ron gives me the password because he knows it's one of the only places I can be alone to think…and forget." Of course. Weasley is a Prefect. Why wouldn't he share the password with his best friend? It's obvious he comes here late at night, just like me, but I've never once seen him.

  


"How long have you been coming here then?"

  


"Since last year. But I came here once in my Fourth year."

  


"Fourth year? How did you get in here then?" It's evident he participates in a lot more rule breaking than anyone is aware of.

  


"It was for the Triwizard. Cedric gave me the password." He swallows hard and averts his eyes from mine with the mention of Diggory's name. "Ron was always worried that someone would catch me in here. Particularly you catching me in here." He was obviously trying to change the subject, so I let him. His smile broadens. "I don't think it would go down to well if I told him I accidentally walked in on you in here." I could just imagine Weasley's face turn pink with rage and then he'd be marching down to the Slytherin Common Room to find me.

  


"Would you tell him?"

  


"Probably not."

  


"So you wouldn't share with him just how good my body is then?" I regret it as soon as it passes over my lips. I promised myself the other night I wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable. It must be very weird for him. But I feel strangely comfortable in his company and I couldn't pass up the opportunity to draw his attention to my half-naked state, although it is unlikely that he had failed to acknowledge that already.

  


Surprisingly he doesn't look rattled by my question. Instead a small laugh escapes him and he shakes his head.

  


"Honestly, I don't think he would be at all interested in your body." He casts his eyes around the bathroom, watching the mermaid in the painting for a short time before finding my eyes once again. "Do you always come here this late?"

  


"Yes. For the same reasons as you I suppose. It's relaxing in here."

  


"Have you ever come across Moaning Myrtle in here?" What kind of a question was that? I suppose our history of civil conversations is fairly non-existent so asking strange questions just might be the path we follow. I don't really mind what questions he asks, just so long as he wants to stay and talk to me. But Moaning Myrtle is that annoying ghost in the girl's bathroom, why would she be here?

  


"No. Why would she be in here?" A mischievous smile flickers over his lips, then disappears quickly. 

  


"She comes to perv on the Prefect boys. I thought she'd enjoy watching you in the bath." 

  


"What?" I almost yell my disbelieving voice echoing around the walls. I never thought he'd say something like that, ever. 

  


"Are you serious?"

  


"Yeah." He looks very amused, which makes me wonder if he is telling the truth.

  


"I've never seen her before. How do you know she does?"

  


"I've spoken to her a couple of times. Although she did say she never speaks to any of the other boys. Just watches them." I follow his eyes to a corner of the bath. "She usually sits just there." He points to where I was already looking. 

  


"She might come in soon. She knows I usually take a bath about this time." I look back at his serious face. 

  


"Your really serious aren't you?"

  


"Yeah. Why would I make something like that up?" I shrug my shoulders. I can't believe there has been a ghost in here watching me take my baths. Invading the only room I thought I had my privacy. If ghosts could die again I would be marching down to her bathroom to strangle her! 

  


Potter has obviously noticed the horrified look on my face and he laughs again, a genuine smile spreading across his face. What a git! He's laughing at me. Me, Draco Malfoy.

  


"This doesn't bother you at all I see?" I cross my arms over my chest in outrage.

  


"Not really. I'm used to people watching me. Plus she's had a thing for me since my second year." This time I laugh. This is not a conversation I ever pictured having with the green-eyed Gryffindor.

  


"A ghost likes you? Moaning Myrtle, the most annoying and pathetic ghost in the whole Castle, likes you?" I can't help but smirk as I say this and soon find two annoyed green eyes boring into me.

  


"Yes. But she's not the only one is she?" My smirk instantly disappears. My mouth suddenly feels drier than a dessert and my eyes fall to the floor. I bet he's looking smug, I can tell without even looking at him. He knows how to rattle me now and I'm not at all pleased about it. I can't believe a Gryffindor is using my feelings against me! Using everything I confessed to him to make me feel uncomfortable. 

  


I can't let him get to me. I have to look at him. I have to show him that I don't care about what he knows. I lift my eyes from the tiled floor and I'm shocked to find that he's not looking smug at all. He's looking somewhat guilty. Guilty? Guilty for making me feel so uneasy? My heart lightens slightly at this. He just watches me. I'm used to this by now, so I just stare back. 

  


The tail of the mermaid splashing in the water causes him to break our eye contact. I continue to watch him. I never get bored of watching him, no matter how much I do it. He absolutely fascinates me, he always has and probably always will. He is such an enigma and yet I understand him so thoroughly. 

  


He shifts uncomfortably on the spot, probably feeling my scrutinizing gaze upon him. You'd think after all these years he would be used to my grey eyes fixed on him. But I suppose everything's changed now, ever since I sent that letter. And he'd never noticed before that I would watch him constantly. Or maybe he did notice but now he knows *why* I watch him. I should talk to him, make him stay for as long as possible but I have no idea what to talk to him about. I don't want to ask anything that will make him leave. I crave his company and now I finally have it but am at a total loss for words. I hate feeling like this. I'm never lost for words, ever. A Malfoy must remain totally composed at all times. It seems I am failing miserably at being a Malfoy. I hate failing.

  


There are so many things I want to ask him. So many things I've wanted to ask him for years but most of them would probably scare him away. I couldn't exactly just say 'So, you think there's any chance you might be gay?' I'm sure that wouldn't go down to well. In fact it might be best to avoid that subject altogether. Perhaps even to avoid the content of the letter altogether.

  


"Do you really think you are incapable of love?" His voice is a whisper and I suddenly realise that we must have been looking at each other for a long time. Maybe the avoidance of the subject of my letter should be forgotten because I didn't bring it up…he did.

  


But his question is almost impossible to answer. It could be answered with a simple 'yes' but I have a sneaking suspicion he wants more than that.

  


"Yes. I've never really felt loved before. I don't know what love is. I don't know how to love. I can't ever remember someone telling me they love me. But because I've never felt love it makes it easier I think. If I had of had lots of love one minute then none the next it would probably hurt a lot more."

  


He gives me a strange look and steps closer to me, whether this is intentional or not I don't know. 

  


"If you don't know how to love or have never experienced love how do you know if you love someone or not? You can't simply dismiss the possibility that you'll never love someone. You just might not know you love them. Might not be able to recognise the feeling. You said you don't believe love really exists. How can you not? You must be able to see it around you, even if it isn't directed at you. I can. And I've never experienced love either. Not real love. I never had parents or any other family to love me. I love my two best friends and the rest of the Weasley family but it's different than having a family of your own. I loved my Godfather more than I've ever loved anyone in my life…I find it hard to love now because it hurts when you love someone. It hurts when they're gone. 

  


"I'm 'loved' and adored by most of the Wizarding world and yet most of the time I feel so unloved that it hurts. It pulls my heart down until it feels so heavy I want someone to rip it out of my chest. It's a bit of a catch 22. It hurts when you do love someone, when they love you and yet it hurts when you don't love anyone…or when no one loves you."

  


He has taken a few more steps towards me. We are still a few metres apart and yet I have never felt so close to him. I never knew he felt like this. He must have kept all those things so close to his heart that even I didn't notice he felt them. But he told me. He chose to tell me and I didn't even have to ask. He opened up willingly and gave me glimpse of what his heart contains.

  


I want to love him. I wish I could love him. I've never wanted to love him but I do now. I do just so he can feel his heart lighten, so he can rid himself of the sinking feeling. It's an awful feeling, I know it too well. He deserves to feel loved. I don't, but he certainly does. 

  


He looks embarrassed at having exposed his heart to me. I probably would to. I did expose my heart to him but it was in a letter. I haven't told him any of it to his face. His courage to do so astounds me. I probably should tell him that. I probably should tell him I understand how he feels. That I want to understand him just as much as he wants to understand me. I thought I did fully understand him but his sudden confessions have thrown me in the deep end and I realise I don't understand him as well as I thought I did. I now know how he would have felt after reading my letter. 

  


Yet I still don't know what to say to him. I'm stuck. I have to say something, otherwise he may think I don't understand. That I don't want to understand.

  


"I wish I could love you."

  


It's over my lips before I have time to stop it. My voice was soft but I know he heard it. His eyes have widened and he looks genuinely shocked. I'm genuinely shocked. I can't believe I just told him that. Of all the things I could have said I chose to say that. Although I can't ever remember consciously making the decision to do so. I probably should explain myself to him. Those words probably weren't enough.

  


"I mean I wish I could love you because you deserved to be loved. And I know all too well about the sinking feeling that makes your heart seem as if it's buried under the ground. Unseen. Left forgotten by everyone. Even forgotten by yourself."

  


I've never been like this with anyone before. I've never been so emotion based. Saying everything I actually feel. It' s slightly unsettling and yet I can't seem to stop myself from anything that I say. 

  


He stares at me for a long time after I say this. I'm grateful because I don't think I should say anything more. So if he says nothing it's less likely he will ask me a question that requires an answer I'm not prepared to give. Although I'd probably give it anyway. I've gotten into a habit of doing that. Bad habits are always hard to shake. This one is no exception.

  


"I would never have guessed that you of all people would be gay." 

  
When he finally speaks it is not at all what I was expecting. Gay. Of course I'd thought about that subject a lot but I've never considered myself to be gay. The only boy I've ever found to be attractive is Potter. I'm not remotely interested in anyone else of either gender. But to have someone actually say it out loud was…shocking. 

  


When I manage to bring myself out of my thoughts I notice he has moved closer to me. He is about a metre from me, his eyes searching my face.

  


"I don't know if I am."

  


His eyebrows furrow in confusion and he takes another small step towards me. 

  


"What do you mean?"

  


"Well I've never considered myself to be gay." I swallow hard, swallowing my pride at the same time in preparation for what I'm about to say. "You're the only boy I've ever been attracted to."

  


"Oh." He takes another step towards me. We are now face to face, only inches separating us. "I've never thought about it before, being gay that is. Until I read your letter. It's what's been troubling me the most. It's one of the things that confuses me the most too." He reaches his hand up, running his fingers over my neck, down to my chest. His touch is intoxicating. Soft fingers, so gentle, so soothing. My eyes drift shut so I can simply bask in the feeling of his fingers on my bare skin. "I don't know really know how I feel. Whether I'm gay or not. I suppose I could be. The idea of it doesn't revolt me or anything. It's quite the opposite in fact." His fingers continue to trace patterns over my chest and I feel as though I may pass out from the feeling of him being so close to me.

  


The movement of his fingers on my skin suddenly stops. His touch is abruptly withdrawn and I snap open my eyes. I am met with green eyes widening in shock, in confusion. He had obviously reached out to touch me unconsciously. As if suddenly realizing exactly what he had done his eyes avert to the floor and he takes a step back from me. I don't want him to move away. I don't want him to ever stop touching me, but he does, and there's nothing I can do about it. He mumbles something I can't understand before he turns and disappears through the door, once again leaving me feeling as though my heart were soaring.

  
  



	5. Quidditch

Disclaimer: I own none of these lovely characters...or anything for that matter.

  


Thanks so everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story and for everyone who gave me the much needed advice!  
I hope you enjoy the last chapter and I hope the ending suffices!

  


  


  


  


  


I can still feel his touch as if it had been burnt into my skin. It's ridiculous, I know, but I can't stop placing a hand where he touched me, reveling in the memory. I've always wanted to touch him, the feeling is almost overwhelming when he's near me. But I haven't touched him yet. No. Instead he reached out and caressed my skin. He ran his fingers over my bare skin making me almost weak with desire. Now, more than ever, I want him to touch me again. My skin sears under his touch and it's the most amazing thing I've ever felt.

  


I can't get enough of him. The past week, since we met in the Prefect's Bathroom, I can't stop watching him. Usually I can control it. It became second nature to simply force my gaze elsewhere. But now it's impossible. I'm praying no one has noticed the change in my behaviour. It's lucky the people I spend the most time with are too dense to even understand what 'behavioural change' means. 

  


Potions was the worst. I couldn't help turning around and watching him cut his ingredients, taking notes, stirring his potions. Watching the fingers which had touched me so sensually. Watching his eyebrows furrow in concentration as he tried to make the potion correctly. I noticed in one lesson that he wasn't cutting his wolfsbane properly and I was almost bursting to go to him, drape my arms over his shoulders, put my hands over his and guide him. I wonder if he would push me away? Pretend to be revolted. I have no idea how he'd react under the watchful eye of our classmates. Not that I would really do it. I'm sure it would result in my fellow Slytherins being guilty of grievous bodily harm if they saw me do that. Not to mention what Snape would do. The fact that I actually helped Potter, rather than me practically hugging him, would make Snape positively irate. 

  


But the week hasn't brought any opportunities for me to be alone with Potter. Occasionally I catch him staring at me and its a great battle to fight back the blush that threatens to creep into my cheeks. We haven't had any fights or arguments since I sent him that letter. Particularly this week. I haven't even had the chance to send little digs in Weasley and Granger's direction. I hope they haven't noticed. I hope no one has noticed. I have an explanation worked out already though. It's quite simple really. I don't want to waste my precious time and energy on them. They don't deserve it. And thats all I'll say. That's all I need to say. 

  


I'm up early again on Saturday morning. I force the horrible images playing in my mind away and crawl out of bed. Today I have a reason to be up this early. It's Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor. Quidditch. I love flying. I always have. I think the best present my Father tried to buy my loyalty with was a broomstick. It gave me the most enjoyment anyway. 

  


I know that I'll need ample time today to psyche myself up, to prepare, so I'm not begrudging the fact that I'm awake this early. I wonder if I'll be able to concentrate on the Snitch with him flying around. He's the reason I've never caught the Snitch before him. My attention seems to be consumed by watching him fly. Watching the graceful movements which he executes with perfect precision. But today I feel it may be considerably worse.

  


I enter the Great Hall alone and move swiftly to my seat at the Slytherin table. There are only a few other students seated this early. Mostly first years, who else would be daft enough to be up this early? As if answering my silent question the large wooden doors swing open and a tired looking Harry Potter slouches across the room to the Gryffindor table. Most of the students turn to watch him as he sits down, me included. But I don't watch him for the same reasons as the pathetic Hufflepuff first years. He pulls a piece of toast onto his plate and watches it apprehensively for about a minute before pushing his plate away. It's humbling to know he still gets nervous before a Quidditch match. Or is it perhaps the same reason I am feeling somewhat nervous? Not just the Quidditch game, but who I'll be sharing the pitch with. 

  


Students begin pouring into the Hall and I'm soon surrounded by my team mates. I let Blaise Zabini take the role of Captain at the beginning of the year and he's now talking enthusiastically beside me, reminding the team of our strategies and game plan. I force my gaze away from the Gryffindor table and stare down at my empty plate, willing myself to pay attention to my Captain. A Seeker doesn't really need to take in the team strategies as much as the other players because usually we just concentrate on the one task...catching the elusive Golden Snitch. 

  


I rise from the table, hoisting my Firebolt X series over my shoulder. My gaze is drawn to the Gryffindor table one last time before I leave the Hall and to my great pleasure I find a pair of emerald eyes lock with mine. Everything around me seems to disappear, my whole world becomes deathly silent as I look into his green depths. The emotions in his eyes are to intense to hold down and label, so I don't even try and simply loose myself in an ocean of green. The distance between us doesn't seem to exist as I'm drawn further into his gaze. It feels like I'm close enough to reach out and touch him. A small smile flickers over his lips causing my stomach to do back flips. My knees feel weak and it seems the only thing holding me up is those eyes.

  


A hand clapping down on my shoulder brings me crashing back down to earth. I turn abruptly to Zabini and am lead out of the Hall with the rest of my team.

  


The conditions for Quidditch are perfect. The sky is overcast meaning vision will be good as the sun won't be blinding me. However the lack of light means the Snitch may be harder to find as it won't be glistening in the sunlight. A slight breeze ruffles our robes as we make our way to the change rooms. 

  


My stomach knots up as I slip into my Quidditch robes. I'm feeling jumpy with anticipation to get out on the pitch and see him again. But I'm also feeling very apprehensive about this game. Apprehensive about him being there. Zabini drones on, trying his best at a motivational speech. Motivation is not what I need. If my team is going to win I need to put some sort of repellent charm on Potter so my eyes won't be forced to watch him constantly.

  


It's a real pity I can't think of a charm because as soon as I fly onto the pitch my eyes are instantly drawn to his scarlet robes flapping lightly in the wind as he hovers a few metres above the ground. I'm grateful there is a reason for me staring at him. He is my opposition. The students and Professors are used to me watching him on the Quidditch pitch. They seem to think that's my game strategy. But really I could be searching for the Snitch myself but I find it much more exhilarating to watch him fly. Watch him search for the Snitch.

  


The whistle is blown, the balls are released and the game begins to a tumultuous roar from the crowd. I take off at top speed, bent low over my broom and shoot upwards through the air. It's easier to keep an eye on things when situated above the game. My eyes flicker over the players below me, soon finding a black mop of hair. He's circling the pitch a couple of metres below me. Deciding this is a good idea I take off once again and begin circling the pitch in the opposite direction. The only problem with watching him constantly is that it becomes infinitely harder to avoid bludgers. I don't fancy being bruised and bloodied by a bludger so I try desperately to keep my eyes on the game while continuing to search for a flicker of gold. 

  


As we continue to circle the pitch the inevitable happens and we pass closely by each other, which does make it almost impossible to keep my eyes on anything but him. He slows his broom, almost to a halt as he approaches me for the third time and just stares straight at me. Straight into my eyes. My grip tightens on my broom handle, not wanting to get caught up in the moment and slip off my broom. He smiles almost shyly at me before his eyes avert and catch on something behind me. He lowers his body over his broom and he propels forwards, rushing passed me as he continues his circling of the pitch.

  


Perhaps this is one of his tactics? Render me helpless by smiling at me during a Quidditch game. If it is, his plan is succeeding in every possible way. But why would he, of all people, need to sink to such tactics when it's highly unlikely that he'll ever loose? Unless of course a dementor runs out on the field.

  


It's an evenly matched game, as most Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor games are. It's about half an hour into the game and I let my attention flicker to the booming voice that consumes the stands. "Another goal to Gryffindor, they lead Slytherin 110 to 90." Finnigan's commentating rarely interferes with my game, but right now I'm looking for any distraction from the green-eyed golden boy currently flying closely in front of me. 

  


Anyone would think that the competitiveness streak that comes out in most Malfoy's would have me more than engrossed in finding the Snitch. I would like to win. I would love to win. My team would love to win but I can't for the life of me get him out of my head. It's like some sort of treacherous disease. And I've been living with this god-awful disease for as many years as I've been at Hogwarts. At first the disease was hatred, at least I thought it was hatred. Then I realised it was something quite different. Something more than hatred. Something that I really shouldn't feel. But I do. And there's not one thing I can do about it.

  


Thinking these things isn't really what one should be doing in the middle of a Quidditch match so I stop to hover in midair and watch the game unfold below me. There hasn't been a glimpse of the Golden Snitch as of yet, not by me or the other Golden one gracing the pitch today. I ignore the blatantly biased commentary of Finnigan and focus my attention on all players except him. It's a lot harder than it sounds as he continues to fly around, searching for the Snitch, constantly dragging my attention to him. I wonder if he's aware of what he's doing to me right now? Probably not. He seems to be too focused on the game to even realise what I'm doing, which of course is keeping a watchful eye on him. But he hasn't seen the Snitch yet, not a single sighting, and with the fine conditions today it is a rarity. He should have really caught it by now. Perhaps there is something out here distracting him from the task at hand?

  


Shaking my wishful thinking from my mind I urge my broom forwards not wanting to be stationary for too long which would most definitely result in a tirade from Zabini. I drive my broom downwards, dropping 10 feet as a bludger comes hurtling my way. It whizzes passed me and continues along it's haphazard path towards the opposite side of the pitch. I watch as Potter executes a series of graceful loops, avoiding the same bludger that had been sent my way. It's admirable really, the way he flys. Every single person here today should feel extremely grateful to be graced with such exquisite flying. Witnessing Harry Potter fly is definitely a sight to behold.

  


We remain on opposite ends of the pitch for sometime but the distance between us doesn't deter my eyes from finding him. Watching him with nothing but respect and adoration. It's strange how it took nearly 7 years for me to realise how amazing he is. And it's not just because of that retched scar that taints his forehead. But because of what's in his heart. In his soul.

  


I'm still thinking of him, watching him, when I see the tiniest flutter of golden wings out of the corner of my eye. My head snaps to the side to find the Golden Snitch hovering barely 20 metres from me. My seeker reflexes instantly kick in and I'm flying towards it before I even realise what I'm doing. I know Potter is still on the other side of the pitch as I only just had my eyes on him. This could be it. This could be when I finally beat Harry Potter.

  


The Snitch evades capture by darting upwards when I am only 2 metres from it. I pull at my broom handle, loving the feeling of the wind whipping at my face as I surge upwards, hot on its trail with one thought in the back of my mind; I wonder if he's seen it yet? I force myself to concentrate on the tiny golden ball in front of me, willing myself not to think of him now. Anytime but now. The roar of the crowd is deafening, but I don't think they've realised what I've seen. The roar is because Gryffindor just scored another goal, which certainly helps in spurring me on even more. 

  


My whole world is focused on the flicker of gold and I'm mere inches away from holding the illustrious Snitch in my hand when I feel a stab of pain searing through my side. The wind is knocked out of me and I'm thrown sideways. A second stab of pain hits me before I have time to re-balance and my broom falls from beneath me. A collective gasp from the crowd is the last thing I hear before I begin falling to the ground.

  


The wind rushes around my body and I feel an awful sinking feeling in the bottom of my stomach. My eyes shut tightly, not wanting to see the ground moving towards me at an incredibly fast rate. I am grateful for the height I was at when I was knocked off my broom because it will take longer for me to make contact the with ground. But at the same time, falling from such a height will not be helpful if I want to continue living. 

  


Before I have time to register any other thoughts I feel a strong arm tighten around my waist. I'm not entirely sure if it belongs to me, trying in a feeble attempt to comfort myself before I fall to an early death. Then I'm jolted forward and I abruptly stop falling. My legs dangle in midair and I feel myself being lowered slowly to the ground.

  


My eyes refuse to open but feeling my feet firmly touching the ground is somewhat of a comforter. My knees go weak trying to support my weight but the arm that is still clutching at my waist holds me steady. As curiosity overtakes me I slowly pry open my eyes, searching for whoever is attached to the arm that has a firm hold on me. 

  


Frightened, concerned, emerald eyes are all I see when my eyes finally open and my whole world seems to be consumed by whats in front of me. Realisation hasn't hit me yet that I just free fell over a hundred feet. That I was plummeting to a likely death. The shock and adrenalin coursing through my body masks any pain I should be feeling.

  


What does finally hit me though, is that the arm still clamped around my waist belongs to one Harry Potter. He looks ruffled. His hair messier than usual and his face seems to be drained of most its colour. As another realisation suddenly dawns upon me I feel as if I'm going to pass out from the joy that instantly washes over me. 

  


I feel my heart jump into my mouth as I realise he's still holding me close to him. The roar of the crowd has somewhat dampened and I know every pair of eyes is focused on us. Probably waiting for me to lash out at him. Throw a tirade of insults at him. Waiting for a repeat of what happened two years ago in this exact same place. I always tend to disappoint a crowd of people and today is no exception. But I don't care. I don't care about any of them. The only thing I care about is that his arm is still wound tightly around me. That his eyes are watching me with concern and compassion, something I've never seen before. Everything slowly fades into nothingness except those mesmerizing emerald eyes.

  


He caught me. He saved me. But why? 

  


I swallow hard, willing my vocal chords to work.

  


"Why'd you catch me?" My voice is barely a whisper but his gaze doesn't waver as he looks at me intently. A smile erupts over his lips and his eyes twinkle at me from behind his black mop of hair.

  


"Because I know how much you hate falling."

  


I feel dizzy. Dizzy because he caught me. Dizzy because he saved me, and not just from that fall either. Dizzy because he knows I hate falling. Dizzy because his lips just brushed against mine.

  


Soft full lips pressing down on mine. For the first time I surrender to the urge to touch him. The feeling of wanting him close, oh so close, is overwhelming and my arms loop around his waist, drawing him nearer. Our bodies fit together like he is the missing piece of the puzzle that is my life.

  


His tongue slides over my bottom lip seeking out entrance. I tremble involuntarily and eagerly comply, deepening our kiss, surrendering my body to him. Surrendering my everything. 

  


His ever so tempting hair that I no longer have to resist is softer than I ever imagined. The feel of it finally skimming through my fingers, his hand cupping my cheek gently stroking down to the sensitive skin of my neck, our lips joined, his tongue caressing my own is enough to send me over...

  


The ironic thing is, it's now that I continue falling....

  


End.

  
  



	6. Epilogue

Hello! (again)   
Some people asked for an epilogue to this story and here it finally is.   
Thanks to Maggie who beta'd this for me.

Disclaimer: I own nothing...obviously.

I hope it answers more questions than it brings up. :D

  
  


*********

  
  


**Hermione Granger:**

The shock was subsonic. The silence deafening... 

Of course neither Harry nor Draco had any idea just how deafening and *strange* the silence was that echoed around the Quidditch Pitch. They had always had the ability to capture everyone's attention. Although this attention was usually trained upon the two of them with their wands drawn ready to use 'Avada Kedavra' if necessary. But there they both were, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived and Draco Malfoy, Son of a Death Eater, kissing like their lives depended on it. Perhaps their lives did depend on it. Although I wouldn't know for sure. 

When they finally pulled apart, smiles planted firmly on their flushed faces, the silence continued to ripple throughout the stadium. I tore my eyes away from the two boys standing as closely together as anyone could stand, still clinging to each other and glanced around at my fellow students. I have always been one for observation and this was no better time to put my skills to use. 

Every single face was plastered with unadulterated shock. A bemused glint in their eyes and perhaps one question on their minds, that is if their minds had recovered yet, "What the hell?" No one saw this coming, perhaps Dumbledore but I'm highly doubting it. Not even I picked up that *this* was the reason Malfoy had stopped tormenting Harry and even in the past week, tormenting Ron and I. Surely people noticed the change, but it was hardly spoken of. 

As people re-gained the function of free thought a slow murmur began to pass over the crowd and the pair on the Quidditch Pitch still seemed to be totally oblivious to the fact that there were hundreds of people watching them with unwavering gazes. 

My next thought, of course after my mind ran over the fact that one of my best friends had just kissed his, _our_, arch rival in front of the whole school and teaching body, was Ron. He had been flying around in midair when this rather unexpected spectacle took place. I was hoping he hadn't fallen off his broom because Harry was definitely too preoccupied to catch him. My eyes raked over the players, most attempting to land, although most pulling it off rather shakily and I found his red hair. He was at the other end of the pitch, which I thought may have been lucky for Harry, but probably luckier for Malfoy. He was frozen to the spot his eyes trained on his best friend; who still had his arms wrapped around a slim waist that definitely was _not_ his own. 

The thing that I probably admire most about Hogwarts staff is their ability to act and act quickly. Before a dull roar could even begin to ripple over the crowd Madam Hooch landed beside the pair of boys, their vividly different coloured robes showing just how different the two were, how different they appeared to be. How different they always have been and until about three minutes ago how different I _always_ thought they would be. 

A whistle was blown and Madam Pomfrey was out on the field and escorting the pair off the Pitch to the Hospital Wing. I think most students thought this was a tactic to get the two out of the spotlight and, by the looks on their faces (coherent speech seemed to be alluding most) they were not at all happy about this. I'm guessing there were quite a few that either wanted the game of Quidditch finished or wanted to strangle either Harry or Malfoy (depending on which house you were sorted into). There was also the possibility that some simply wanted another floor show. One thing's for certain, most seemed to have forgotten the reason why the two of them ended up with their arms clasped around one and other. Malfoy had been hit by not one, but two bludgers and I'm surprised he was still standing. Although the euphoria of kissing Harry in front of the whole school could probably do a lot to someone's pain tolerance.

**Harry Potter:**

I hadn't realised he had seen the Snitch. What I did see was a bludger flying toward him and before I even had time to process rational thought I was speeding across the pitch towards him. Then the second bludger hit and I felt my stomach drop. I actually halted in midair and watched his body go slack then begin to fall.

As soon as I caught him I knew it was right. When our feet hit the ground and I steadied him I had never felt so invigorated. When he finally turned to face me, a look of absolute shock and disbelief that the arms wrapped around him were in fact mine, I couldn't help but smile. Then his soft, shaken voice asking me why I had caught him. I really did feel like saying 'Why wouldn't I?' But I knew his question wasn't meant to sound ungrateful. He was simply curious. So I told him. I told him exactly why I caught him. I told him the only truth I knew and it was that I know how much he hates falling. I think if I could possibly give that blessed letter a title it would undoubtedly be 'Falling'.

Then the look of unbridled relief and something else I couldn't put my finger one washed over his features and I did the only thing I felt was right, my automatic response at being thrust into such a situation. Everything else in my entire world disappeared and all I could see was him. Then I leaned forward and kissed him. 

I can't remember anything other than how it felt. I don't remember what I was thinking. I don't remember the crowd. All I can remember is him. 

His body held so closely to mine I could feel every inch of him. His hair tickling my forehead. His incredible moan of pleasure when I bit down softly on his bottom lip.

Then it was over and I was sitting on a bed in the Hospital Wing with Malfoy lying on the bed next to me. I had forgotten he had been hit with two bludgers. I had forgotten everything. If someone had asked me after I pulled away from him, my breath coming in soft gasps, what my name was I doubt I could've told them.

But here I am, legs dangling over the side of the bed as I watch Madam Pomfrey fuss over her patient. She seems most concerned, well who could blame her, getting hit by one bludger was bad enough, but two! And yet he doesn't appear to be in too much pain and I think this is what is worrying her the most. It's what's worrying me the most anyway.

After shoving several potions down his throat she finally leaves and it's just us and the sterile smell of the Infirmary. We sit in silence a long while. I can't drag my eyes off him but I don't have any reason to want to take my eyes off him so I leave them be. He is looking straight ahead, a faint smile on his face. This smile makes my stomach do things it probably shouldn't.

"Are you ok?" My question when it finally comes doesn't seem much but even I can hear how much concern is in my voice. He looks touched by it and nods his head before turning slightly to face me. 

"Are you sure? Being hit by one bludger is enough, you must be in agony." His smile increases slightly.

"You're the best pain killer I've ever had." This pronouncement is simple enough, but even after being hit by two bludgers then free-falling 40 metres doesn't stop his uncanny ability at saying something that will make my heart race. I don't know what to say, but I think the grin on face pretty much says it all.

For some irksome reason I wasn't panicking yet about what the school was going to do to us. In particular what Ron was going to do. However realising I wasn't panicking yet definitely did increase the panic I am now feeling. I'm actually surprised Ron hasn't hexed Malfoy into next week yet. 

The ever-increasing panic must be evident on my face because Malfoy is looking at me strangely. Not that that is unusual in itself, but I can see the worry in his eyes. I pull the glasses from my eyes to let my face drop into my hands, rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying to will the sinking feeling in my stomach away. 

"What's wrong?" His soft voice, laced with concern and fear echoes around the room. I lift my face slowly to meet his stormy gray eyes and for one of the few times in my life I can see every emotion coursing through his orbs, each emotion highlighted with specs of pale blue.

"Ron." My voice is hoarse and I know how scared I must sound. "Ron's going to kill me." I shake my head slightly. "Or you," I add as an after thought. I smile bitterly as the realisation of what I've just done hits me. It's strange how something that feels so right will be seen as so wrong by everyone that I'm close to. If I have any chance at all in making them understand I need Hermione to understand first. She needs to be on my side. 

I stand abruptly from my bed and take two short steps to stand beside Malfoy. 

"What are we going to do?" He sends me a puzzled look. "I mean, about what just happened, where do we go from there?" I need to know what he wants. Deep down I think I know exactly what he wants, but even after kissing him I'm still not sure if I can give it too him.

"Where do you want to go?" His voice is devoid of emotion.

"I don't know." I say, a hint of desperation in my voice. "I don't know what I'm feeling or what we should do. I just, don't know." He eyes me thoughtfully for a moment, a pensive look on his face before speaking.

"Why did you kiss me?" I feel my heart quicken its pace. I'm not really sure if I know the answer to that. I don't think I'll ever know. I swallow hard and decide I should answer him as truthfully as I can. I owe him that much.

"It just felt right. I didn't even think about it, I didn't have to think about it. Ever since I saw you in the Prefect's Bathroom I've wanted to. Even though I didn't actually realise that until about 10 minutes ago. But I just...I just had to see what it felt like to kiss you." 

  
I know he's relieved to hear this. His shoulders drop slightly, as if he's relaxing again. 

"Did you like it?" A small smile flickers over his lips before its quickly replaced by his usual impassive, set look. 

"Yes." My voice is barely a whisper but I answer before I have time to think about what my answer should be. Of course I liked it. Who wouldn't like having such a beautiful creature wrapped in their arms?

"So did I. You don't know how long I've wanted to do that, well actually, you probably do. But to have you kiss me, instead of the other way round..." He trails off as if he's not quite sure words would suffice what he wants to say. It's strange having someone feel that for you. To know how much they care, how much they want to be with you. I've never had anyone feel this way about me before. And for that person to be Draco Malfoy makes me pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. 

"You should go see Weasley and Granger before the whole school riots and breaks their way in here." He looks pained to be telling me to leave and his words make my heart lift. It just shows how much he does care. Instead of keeping me here with him, he's sending me off to my friends to make sure things are alright. I smile down at him, realising his words may just be the reality of what's going on in the rest of the school.

"I have no idea what I'm going to say to them."  
  
"Just tell them the truth. If they care about you, they'll understand. And I've never doubted for one day since I've been at this school that those two don't care about you." He doesn't smile, his face remains impassive, like the sincerity of his words doesn't really exist. "Can you pass me that quill and parchment?"

  
I reach for the quill and parchment from the bedside dresser and hand them to him without batting an eyelid. I stand beside him, looking down at him as he hurriedly scratches the quill across the parchment. I try to start planning what I'm going to say. What can I say? It's all so hard to explain. How can I explain the look in Malfoy's eyes almost two weeks ago in the Potions room? How can I explain what I've observed of him over the past few weeks without sounding like a raving lunatic? Then it dawns upon me just how I can explain this too them. The same way I learned to understand. 

"Can I ask you a favour?" I ask hopefully, watching as he folds up the parchment. He looks up, eyeing me curiously.

  
"I suppose so."

"Would you mind if Ron and Hermione read your letter?" He stares at me, wide eyed, as if he is absolutely horrified by the idea. Of course, I don't blame him in the least. 

His gaze doesn't waver as he continues to stare at me, although it feels as if he's looking straight through me. I know it's a lot to ask of him, but it's really the only way I know I can make them listen and understand. 

"It's ok, they don't have to. I just thought if they read it they might be more inclined to listen to what I have to say. But I understand if you don't want them to."

  
"What do you want from me Harry?" His abrupt question startles me, but not half as much as the use of my name does. 

"What...what do you mean?" I stutter over my words, still feeling rather startled. 

"What do you want from this relationship? Do you want to walk away from this room and forget anything ever happened or do you want something more?" I freeze on the spot, horrified that he might even think I could walk away from this. That I might be able to forget what's happened between us.

"Of course I want something more. I doubt I could forget what we've been through, ever." He nods solemnly.

"That's all I needed to know. Whether you want a friendship or something more is irrelevant right now. You shouldn't have to make your mind up now, although I'm willing to take whatever is on offer." The seriousness of his voice is strangely comforting. "Of course they can read it. But give them this first, before you tell them anything, make them read this." He puts the parchment in my hand, squeezing softly before reluctantly pulling his hand away.

"I'll come and see you later." I assure him before turning to leave, walking swiftly from the room

*******

I feel the tension sweep over me in as soon as I step through the portrait hole. I freeze on the spot and stare around at my fellow house mates. My eyes filter over blank expression after blank expression, not caring what any of them are thinking, what any of them will say except for two people my eyes fall upon in the middle of the room.

"Ron. Hermione. I need to talk to you both."

And I walked straight through the sea of red and gold and up the stairs to my room without a backward glance, knowing deep down that Ron and Hermione would follow.

I don't turn around until I'm standing next to my bed. I see the two of them standing in the doorway and my heart feels as though it's trying to leap into my mouth. I clamp down roughly on my nervousness and usher them inside, directing them to the bed. 

I stand and watch the two of them, my best friends, my first ever friends and I know a lot rests on what I'm about to say, how I say it. 

"Malfoy wanted you both to read this." I reach into my pocket and hand them the parchment. They both look a little startled, who could blame them? Their long term rival, our long term rival, writing them a note, that I presume has nothing insulting or hurtful in it.

Hermione's eyebrows furrow, her eyes skimming over the parchment. It's hard to gage her reaction, she's looking incredibly impassive. Ron, on the other hand, is somewhat easier to read. He looks flustered, his cheeks flushed pink, his face screwed up in confusion, disbelief and I wonder what Malfoy has written to them.

Hermione looks up at me first, watching me thoughtfully and I can almost see her brain ticking over through her eyes. This could be a good sign but I don't want to get my hopes up. Finally Ron shifts his eyes from the note, staring me straight in the eye, his eyes wide, his eyebrows arched so high they are almost at this hairline. I smile slightly at them, before turning to open my trunk, rifling through my books until I come to a worn piece of folded parchment. I move back to the bed and sit down opposite them.

"Could I see what he wrote?" I ask softly, holding my hand out.

"You don't know what he wrote?" Hermione asked curiously. I shake my head.

"He folded it after he finished writing it, I assumed he wanted you two to read it first." Hermione nods, whether in understanding, consent or something more I don't know she and hands me the note.

_You're probably not interested in anything I have to say, you never have been, but I need you to read this before you throw it away. Actually, Harry probably needs it more than me. And that's why I'm writing it, for him. There are things, as his best friends, that you need to know and understand. _

_You're probably wondering what happened today and why it happened. It's not my place to explain it, but I will say this. None of it is Harry's fault. If you are seeking someone to blame, feel free to blame me, curse me, hex me, whatever you like, but don't send a bad thought in Harry's direction. He doesn't deserve it._

_You both have something I've always wanted, Harry's unconditional friendship and love and as much as I hate to admit it I am somewhat envious. But none of what has happened was an attempt on my behalf to take Harry away from you. I could never do that. I see the happiness radiate from him when he is with you and I could never take that away. In fact, I am willing to give up whatever Harry and I have to make sure that you all stay friends. I know he could live without me, but he could never live without the both of you. I couldn't stand to watch him suffer without the two of you._

_I only want what is best for Harry, so depending on what he is about to tell you, what he wants, you can either accept that me and Harry may be friends or you can deny him the opportunity to be friend's with me, forcing him to choose. I know who he'll choose. He's done it once before. Whatever makes Harry happy I am willing to submit to because as much as you may find it hard to believe, I care about him more than life itself. _

_Don't be hasty in your decision._

_Draco Malfoy._

It was all too much for me too comprehend in the short few seconds I had before I had to explain. His letters always seem to touch something deep inside of me, he was so sincere that it tugged on my heart strings..._I care about him more than life itself. _

I force my eyes up to meet those of my friends. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but I cut in first.

"I don't want either of you to say a thing. You are my best friends and deserve an explanation but I want you to sit tight and wait until you hear me out before you start screeching or booking me into St. Mungo's or whatever you want to do. I need you both to understand what has been going on the past few weeks." I take a deep breath, and open the letter in my hands, the letter that changed my life.

"I didn't know how I was going to explain all this to you. I didn't know how I was going to make you understand what happened and why it happened, then I thought back to the thing that made me understand the things about Malfoy that nobody knows, that nobody has been bothered to find out.

"About two weeks ago and owl delivered me this letter. In it contains the secrets of Malfoy's heart and he entrusted it to me. I thought it may have been a joke and I could have used all of it to blackmail him to humiliate him, which of course I thought of doing, but after reading it again and again and again I realised just how real it seemed. How everything about him seemed to be so much clearer, he appeared to me more than just a two-dimensional figure with no feelings. He finally seemed real.

"I asked him today if I could show you this, to help you understand, because it's what helped me understand and he looked absolutely sickened by the idea. But he thought about it and after asking me if I wanted to walk away from him like nothing happened or if I wanted something more and me telling him that I could never walk away he didn't hesitate in agreeing to letting you read it. After reading the note I understand why he was so willing to reveal his secrets to you, he doesn't want me to loose you as friends as much as I don't want to loose you both."

  
My hands are shaking and I don't think there are anymore words I can say, so I hand them both the letter and wait.

Ron's eyebrows furrow soon after he starts reading, his nose scrunching up slightly and I'm not sure if this is a good or bad sign. Hermione on the other hand, from what I can see, has a neutral expression until she lifts her eyes slowly to mine, the tears welling in her brown orbs sparkling in the sunlight streaming through the window. Her eyes lock with mine for what seem like an eternity while Ron continues to read and I can feel my hands shaking at my sides. This is without a doubt the inevitable crunch time.

When Ron finally lifts his eyes to mine Hermione dares to speak, but all that comes out is a soft "Harry" as she leaps off the bed and into my arms.

"We had no idea." She says in a whisper, her arms clasped around my neck, her bushy hair rubbing against my skin. This is a good sign, I think, as I tighten my arms around her waist, my eyes chancing a glance at Ron who is still sitting motionless on the bed. "We never knew. No one ever knew. Such a poor, tormented soul." I can feel the tears sliding down her cheeks as they slip down onto my neck. She pulls slowly away from me, fixing me with one of the warmest looks I've ever seen her give and she reaches up, brushing her tears away from her cheeks. "I trust your judgment Harry, I always have, in any situation we've been in, life threatening or not, you've always made the right one...which is why I trust whatever you chose to do now." She smiles up at me, her eyes still full of tears and I don't think I've ever felt closer to her before in my life. I reach up a hand to her face and brush away the rest of her tears.

"Thanks Hermione. That means more to me than you will probably ever know."

  
"I've gotta go." Ron's gruff voice pulls my thoughts away from Hermione and I watch him walk across the room, pulling the door open and disappearing. I slump down onto my bed, my head falling helplessly in my hands. Instantly I feel Hermione's weight on the bed, her hands pulling my face up.

"He'll come round Harry. It'll just take time. It's all a bit of a shock, I don't know how you coped all this time, keeping it all too yourself, it was very brave. Give him a while to think, but go talk to him later. You know, have a blokey chat, or whatever it is you two do. He doesn't want to lose your friendship, he cherishes it more than anything else in his life and I doubt he'll let this stand in the way."

I took Hermione's advice, as it's usually good advice, and I let Ron simmer for a few hours before I took out my trusty old map and discovered he was in the Prefect's Bathroom. 

I wondered if he had been there since he left Gryffindor Tower, it wouldn't surprise me, trying to soak away the anger or confusion or whatever it is he's feeling. That's what makes me feel slightly nervous, I don't know what he's feeling so I don't know how to approach the subject. It's easier with Hermione, just give her the facts and she can figure everything else out, but Ron's different and this is what is causing my hands to shake as I unlock the door to the Prefect's Bathroom.

He's laying back in the bath, half his chest and his head the only part of him not submerged under the water and bubbles and he raises his eyes slowly to me, not looking at all surprised to see me. I feel my heart jump into my mouth and I know I never, ever want this person out of my life.

I roll up my pants, and sit down on the edge of the bath, letting my legs hang in the water. The hot liquid swilling around my feet is an instant relaxant and I know I probably should have had a shower before I came here, just to calm my nerves.   
  
We sit in relative silence, the only sounds the occasional splashing of my feet and the swish of the mermaid's tail. It's not an uncomfortable silence but I know if I don't say something soon I probably never will.

"You never told me what you think about the letter... about everything." My voice shakes slightly but I don't care, this is my best friend, it doesn't matter how scared I appear to him.

"I don't know what I think." He says shortly, his voice sounding almost pained. I can tell this is going to take some explanations on my behalf. 

"You're my best friend, my first _ever_ friend." My voice cracks slightly and his eyes find mine, his face softening as he sees my pleading face. "I'd die for you Ron." I say with every piece of truth that I have inside me. 

"I know mate, I'd do the same for you." He says it without hesitation, like he's never been so sure of anything in his life and I know it's true. He _would_ die for me.

"Well if you'd risk your life, like you have on so many occasions, can you just trust me on this?" Ron's a lot more easier to read than Malfoy and Hermione and I can see the conflicting emotions flicker over his face, his eyebrows furrowing.

"What about everything he's done to us? Are you just going to forget about that? Have you forgotten?" Ron asks determinedly, his voice rising above the light splashing of water as his temper rises along with it.

"No, I haven't Ron. He's done some horrible things to you, to Hermione, to me, hell even to Hagrid. I don't expect those things to be forgotten. I'm not forgetting any of it. What he's done to us in the past is in no way excusable and I doubt it will ever be forgotten... or forgiven and I think he knows that. But I just need you, as my best friend, to accept this." I finish sounding desperate, because that's exactly what I am, I'm desperate for my best friend to understand everything and accept it at the same time.

Ron watches me for an inexplicable amount of time after I finish talking and for once I don't know how he's going to react, or what he's going to say. His voice, when it finally comes, is calm and composed and I'm not sure what to make of it.

"You didn't tell me you're gay." He says, sounding almost putout. I feel a small smile pull at the corners of my mouth as I remember what Malfoy said to me in this very room.

"I dunno if I am." I say simply, just as he had said. Ron looks at me as if I've gone insane. "I'd never thought about it before, not until I read his letter. It had never crossed my mind. But the only guy I've ever been even remotely attracted to is Malfoy." Ron looks almost sickened by this idea but I can see the slight amusement in his features.

"Now _that_ must have been a bit of a shock." I laugh, not because what he said was overly funny but because Ron's back, the Ron I've been accustomed to for the past 7 years. He smiles cheekily before his face his is smothered into a serious expression. "I spose that's what freaked me out the most, was that you didn't tell me you're gay, I don't care that you are, but the most unsettling part was that it's _Malfoy, _that's the past I couldn't quite grasp, until I read that letter..." He trails off, lifting a hand to run it through his wet hair.

"Look, I don't expect you too like him, I don't expect you to get along with him and I know even being civil to him is a bit to ask..." I grin at him, remembering all the times Ron had nearly throttled Malfoy, "But all I ask is that you try." He nods slowly, watching the desperation in my face and I don't think he could deny me this, not now.

"I think I was in shock after I read that letter." He says matter-of-factly. "Everything that he wrote about, no one ever knew, we didn't know, we didn't have the slightest inkling and yet there it was, written down for us all to read. But what I don't understand is _why _he lived a life he didn't want, lived a life he hated and pretended to be this horrible person when it wasn't really him. It just seems like an utter waste of time and energy if you ask me." I nod in understanding, these were the thoughts I had immediately after I read the letter.

"I think only Malfoy can answer your questions, and in time, I'm sure you could ask him." I smile at him and he smiles back, that typical Weasley grin and I knew in that moment that I, _we_, could get passed this all. 

*******

I crept back to the Infirmary before dinner, not wanting to face the whole school on my own and I found Malfoy in exactly the same way as I left him; laying on his back staring at nothing, a look of utmost content plastered on his face. It was a very endearing sight.

I swept passed the beds lined up along the wall and stopped just short of his bed and he shifts slowly, stormy grayeyes falling upon me.

"What happened?" He asks, sounding almost desperate for the answer. I can't help the smile that creeps onto my lips and he visibly relaxes.

"It was ok. Hermione actually cried after she read your letter." His eyebrows raise slightly at this and I continue. "She understood straight away, but it took a bit more to convince Ron. He's ok now though." He looks as if the weight of the world has been lifted from his shoulders. 

I content myself with watching him, it's new to me, seeing this side of him and I don't think I'll tire of watching him, of basking in his beauty. I still can't believe everything that's happened over the past few weeks, but I push if from my mind, not wanting to dwell on the 'whys' and just settle for the fact that this simply _is_.

He shifts uncomfortably, an inquiring look on his face. It's strange how he lets me see this part of him, that he is comfortable and that he has shown this vulnerable side that no one has ever seen. 

"What?" He asks softly, twisting to lay on his side to look directly at me, the sheets slipping down around him to reveal a milky white chest. "What are you looking at?"

  
"You." I reply simply and move to sit on his bed.

*******

  
  


**Draco Malfoy:**

Me. He's looking at me and I know he actually likes watching me. Likes the fact that he's here with me and it's almost too much to comprehend. 

It's taken me a few hours get over the fact that he kissed me. _He_ kissed me. He _kissed_ me. He kissed _me_. Perhaps I haven't quite got over it yet. I doubt I ever will. 

He settles comfortably next too me, his whole body relaxing against the bed and turns his eyes on me once more, a small smile constantly pulling at his lips and for the first time_ I_ reach out and touch _him_, slipping my hand into his, his soft skin molding instantly with mine. He looks down at our hands clasped together and stares for a long moment, before I squeeze his hand gently, just to let him know it's real and as if encouraged by my action he leans back, turning on his side to lay next to me, arms wound tightly around me, face nuzzled into my neck. 

We lay in each other's embrace for a long time, the hours creeping on, the shadows growing long and swallowing up the infirmary, steeping the room in darkness and Harry would always pull me closer, his lips always finding mine in the dark.

*******

Harry Potter looks beautiful with the sun creeping in from the window basking him in thick, yellow light, illuminating his olive skin, his mussed ink-black hair hanging fetchingly across his forehead and his long, thick eyelashes casting tiny shadows under his eyes. His chest rising and falling ever so gently in a kind of rhythmic beat that could put you in a trance.

I know all this because I woke with him in my arms, bathed in sunlight and I guess I was in a trance. I think I had been since the previous day.

His long lashes fluttering gently, green eyes squinting in the light and that sweet smile instantly gracing his features when he realised exactly _where _he was made my heart lift like never before. Arms pulling me closer, the soft, sleepy murmur of "good morning" spoken so close to me that I could feel his lips moving against my neck and I know I'll never get tired of this. Tired of this feeling that has consumed me, such an unfamiliar feeling and yet it's not daunting in any way. It makes me feel powerful, content... loved.

The Great Hall of a morning generally has a low, rippling murmur circling over head. Talk of last nights activities, of the activities of the previous day that wasn't exhausted the night before and talk of what today will bring. But today there was an unusual buzz to the large Hall, an excited, or anxious kind of feeling that I could feel as soon as I stepped through the doors. The fact that I happened to step over the threshold with one Harry Potter caused the entire student body to turn and look, that buzzing feeling intensifying tenfold.

Together we gaze around at our fellow students with unwavering glances before walking toward our respectful tables. The Slytherin's collective response is not hard to gage as I sit down; shocked, stunned, affronted and some even mournful. I smirk, honestly not caring what any of them think. 

I begin piling food onto my plate, wondering when some brave person will crack and either start hurling insults or hexes at me or screaming the big question; "WHY?" Pansy's withering glances are what cause me to speak, my calm, cold voice washing over the table like a shock of water.

"Pansy if you continue with those looks I highly doubt you'll pick up for the rest of your time at Hogwarts." A deadly stare is what greets me after this statement, and a few stifled laughs from further down the table. 

"You're the one, Draco, who won't pick up, not after what you did yesterday." 

"And what makes you think I'll be wanting anyone when I have a sexy, green-eyed Gryffindor just across the room?" Gasps, stunned, aghast expressions filtered down the table and I can't bite back my bitter laugh at their idiocy. "Yes, Harry Potter is my boyfriend and you can either accept it and get over it or not accept it and put up with it. It's your choice, and honestly, I couldn't care which one any of you pick."

My rather abrupt speech was met with the sound of rushing wind and hundreds of owls pouring into the Great Hall, swooping down over the tables, sending letters crashing to the tables. A large black owl circled above me before swooping gracefully and perching itself next too my plate, attached to it's leg a letter emblazoned with the Malfoy coat of arms. I'd been waiting for this, I just hadn't expected it so soon. 

The envelope is divested of quickly, revealing it's contents.

_Dearest Draco, _

_I hope this letter finds you well. I heard about your accident with the bludgers on the Quidditch Pitch yesterday, but you're a Malfoy and Malfoy's are strong and I just know you'll be fine. I also heard about your public show of affection and I don't think I need to remind you that such things are not becoming of a Malfoy and will most certainly never happen again. We cannot show weakness Draco. _

_I have enclosed a few of your favourite sweets._

_Your Loving Mother._

After re-reading the letter several times I still can't believe my eyes. No mention of who this "public show of affection" was shared with. It's as if she doesn't care that it was Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Sent-Her-Husband-To-Azkaban. It wasn't surprising though, that the main thing she was concerned with was that the show of affection had indeed been public...very public. 

The slow smile that spread over my lips attracted the eyes of many people around the Hall who were obviously waiting for my outburst, my Mother's voice to erupt around the hall in the form of a howler, but the only eyes I notice are a vivid green colour and full of an emotion I was still getting used to seeing. 

I stand from the table, my eyes never leaving his and walk silently to his side, dropping the letter in front of him. 

"Good morning Ron, Hermione." I say, the look on Harry's face yesterday before he had to speak to them, the look on his face at the thought of loosing them, instantly flashing before my eyes that makes me be anything but civil to them.

Weasley definitely looks shocked, but nods a hello. Granger's reaction is much more promising.

"Good morning Draco, I trust you slept well." And a cheeky grin that I've never seen before pulls at her lips for a moment before her eyes moved from me to Harry, watching him intently. 

Harry looks up at me, twisting around in his seat so his back is too the table, confusion playing in his eyes. 

  
"So, she's ok with it?" He asks hesitantly. 

"I think so." I shrug dismissively. "It's so typical of her to be more concerned with "public shows of affection" than anything else. She's very old-fashioned, as you may have noticed." Harry nods, blinking a few times, as if trying to digest the new information. I glance at his two friends who are still watching him protectively. "I guess I'll see you in Potions then?"

"No," he says, standing up and stepping closer to me, so close I can almost feel him. I look at him, confusion written in my features as I don't recall him mentioning the fact he was skipping Potions, then my eyes flicker around the suddenly silent room and I can see hundreds of eyes focused on me. I avert my eyes back to the person who has managed to hold my attention for the past seven years.

"Everyone's looking at us." I say distractedly, loving the feeling I get from gazing into his eyes. He looks slowly around the room before his eyes meet mine again, a grin lighting up his whole face.

"We better show them we're serious then." 

  
"Serious about wh-" He dips his head his lips crushing mine in a possessive kiss as if he's telling the whole world exactly who I belong to and I have no objections as my arms circle his waist, his body aligning instantly with mine, molding together as one. And for the first time in my life I feel grounded, as if I've suddenly stopped falling.

**End.**


End file.
